Dreams Unwind, Love's a State of Mind
by Phoenix To Flame
Summary: They walk towards their own destruction, and they aim to let nothing stop them from reaching the end of what they have decided their lives will be. Not even each other. But fate is neither so cruel nor so kind as to stop what lies beyond them, and what their future may yet be. Robin/Gangrel.
1. Beginning

Oh god, this story. This is the story I've been calling the story from hell to all my friends whom I tell about it. And it's not because I don't enjoy writing it or I don't like where it will go, but because it is a dark, grim depressing story mixed with an already difficult romance to justify while expanding on various things I've seen in the game that never really went anywhere because Fire Emblem.

So as a pre-warning, there will be more below including on this particular incarnation of Robin, this will be grim, depressing and sad for a fair amount of the story if only because both protagonists are marching towards their doom and refusing to let the other in while simultaneously falling in love wholeheartedly and being terrified of it. There are implications of suicide, both thoughts and attempts, depression, guilt and all of those other lovely emotions that build up to make a bad situation even worse. Also battle, blood, snotty comments and a bending of the canon including of Robin herself into a darker character with some of the canon traits she shows exacerbated from the effects of what she's seen, along with a rather cavalier treatment of Fire Emblem's battle rules, equipment and logic, because while it works amazingly for a game, not so much for a story, so some things will appear that were not in Awakening, and other things will be drastically toyed with following the logic of say how powerful Thunder tomes would more likely work in battle.

* * *

><p>Everything began with a bloody red sunrise just off the coast of Plegia's southernmost island. Despite the fact that for all intents and purposes he was dead to everyone who mattered and hopefully his body would follow his reputation at some point, though he had to admit that he wasn't actually trying very hard to get killed. The pirate king seemed to find it amusing that he clung to life like the maggot he was called by all the rest of them, and it was out of some dark, ruinous sense of self-preservation that he only protested it when they were all passed out on the awful stuff they called ale.<p>

The former self proclaimed Mad King of Plegia and now gruesome parody of a cabin boy pushed the red hair that refused to stop curling into his eyes out of the way so that he could scan the horizon. It really was too long again and cutting it with the edge of his Levin sword was growing more and more tempting despite the fact that it would make him look even more a mess than he already did. He bit back the thought that his pride was doing him no favors even when he had nothing else left.

Shielding his eyes from the direct glare of the sun, he looked towards the village on the west of the island, where the people below as tiny as ants from his gods forsaken high vantage points started their days as all Plegians did nowadays, struggling to survive in a world that had hated them for things none of them deserved.

Gangrel growled as his stomach twisted and his mind reminded him of the fact that even with solid earth under his feet, he was still too far up for his own comfort, and the fall from here was probably one he could actually survive. It was hard to decide whether or not that fact was disappointing.

Crawling back into the tall grass, he snuck back to the pile of drunken excuses for pirates that preyed on the weak. It made him sick to serve them, but two years of the mess his life had become made it very clear that he deserved nothing less. Still, he wouldn't mind frying a few of them, especially the ones who had already earned his ire for various...acts they visited on the people they robbed. A little bloody death never hurt anyone, but they took it to disgusting levels and left their victims alive to live with the fact.

As it was, he felt no need to wake them from their drunken stupors. Here, he had as much power as he ever deserved, the power over sleeping vile beasts who thought with nothing above their distended bellies. The power to decide whether or not they were waking up that morning.

Of course, the small serenity of their state faded away as the morning light touched them and reminded them that in fact, they did live and had not joined the ranks of the Risen yet. Not that it would make much of a difference to their joyful personalities. Some of them would actually be improved by the change to undead, namely the inability to yell drunken things that he didn't particularly want to dwell on.

The Great and Mighty Pirate King was the first to yell for him, the foul screech of "_Maggot_" ringing round the clearing. Gangrel resisted the temptation as he did every day to ignore him and vanish into the island, a temptation that only held strong due to knowing that each and every day of this was exactly what he deserved. A second yell propelled him to his feet, making him walk as slow as he dared to reach him.

Zanth's piglike eyes were still red with intoxication, a bottle of foul smelling grog clenched in one meaty fist. "Maggot," he growled as Gangrel offered him a mock bow that entirely lacked respect, "yer slow t'day."

"Yes," he said with a repressed sneer, "I was looking out on the vantage, like you told me too." Despite the lack of proper speech or grammar amongst the brutes, he refused to slip back into anything close to the speech he'd grown up with. "Nothing has changed."

The man snorted, sitting up and blessing the world with his nasty smell and said "O' course nothin's changed! Who'd challenge the Pirate King?"

He could think of at least one man foolish and brash enough to challenge, and blessed enough in his allies and skills to win. But the chances of the great princeling of Ylisse arriving on the tides with an army to crush the pirates and him into the dirt and dust till all that was left was blood was about as likely as the Grimleal's plans were to come into fruition. And since they had been left floundering after their supposed promised child vanished when he was roughly ten, it was very unlikely that anything would change.

A sharp pain in his head reminded him that Zanth was waiting for the usual answer. Gangrel glared up at him and refused to put a hand to his head and acknowledge the pain. "No one," he growled through his teeth, letting his pride keep him from giving the brute respect he didn't deserve. All he got were those two words.

Either Zanth picked up on the fact that he was not in a mood to be pushed around, or more likely he was just done playing, and walked past him to start kicking other members of what he called a crew into consciousness. Gangrel watched him go and determinedly did not touch the new lump forming over his skull. It wasn't the worst blow he'd taken, and probably wouldn't be the worst to come.

As several of the pirates lumbered to their feet, staggering around like they were still drunk out of their minds, he turned his face to the wind coming off of the ocean. The fresh snap of salt and fresh air was about the one thing he had left that wasn't corrupted by his own actions or what his life had become.

He almost missed the faint tang of iron on the air, dismissing it at first as something irrelevant before he realized what it meant. A ship. Or possibly more than one. It was entirely probable that they were just passing by and the smell would vanish, but between the fact that rumors had suggested that the Valmese war had indeed ended with the entire continent under Walhart's subjugation, and much more dubious rumors that Chrom had decided to take the fight to Walhart before he could prepare to launch an invasion, it seemed unlikely that a ship would pass nearby without planning to stop. Even if it wasn't for long, this was the last large island on any map to have fresh water between Plegia and Valm.

Should he tell the pirates? He'd probably get punished for not saying so. Then again, it took almost nothing for him to end up in trouble for something and he was already feeling particularly unfriendly towards them. Perhaps he might join in the fighting if the situation promised a victory on the side he'd been forced onto.

The smell of iron on the wind grew stronger and he took the chance to make sure that his sword was firmly tied against his side. The lack of an effective sheath made carrying it around difficult, but he wouldn't be caught dead without it. Whoever managed to kill him would have to pry it from his hands if they wanted it.

The small flock of Pegasae flying over everyone's heads alerted the pirates to their sudden danger and Gangrel to exactly who was challenging them. Apparently his sarcastic thoughts about Chrom having anything to do with the situation were a little more likely than he'd thought. In fact, they seemed to be headed by the current queen of Ylisse, if he recognized the protective armor on her pegasus at all.

Well he was sure to end up in even worse trouble than he thought, he mused as the brigade of pegasus knights swooped over them in a flurry of glowing white wings lit even brighter by the sunrise behind them. A second troop led by a woman with long red hair that streamed out behind her noticeably even from the relative height distances came flying in from the other direction, and he had to look away before vertigo seized him and made him useless.

Zanth's voice rang out through the clearing strongly. "Well look a' that, boys!" he snarled, and Gangrel saw him striding through with his ax grasped in one meaty fist. "We got us some pretty girls to take out o' the skies!"

If there was one thing at all that he could find not repulsive in the repulsive excuse for a man, it was his ability to inspire his crew to battle with just a few words. It was the choice in words and implications that generally left him feeling vaguely sick to his stomach. All around him, men grabbed up weapons, squabbling over the few bows they had and generally preparing for a battle the pirate way.

He was trying to decide whether or not to join what they called preparations when Zanth caught his elbow, his stench making Gangrel wrinkle his nose. "Don' think o' backing out now," he said in a low whisper, blowing foul air onto his face. "Or ye'll live t' regret it."

He could only grimace in response to being assaulted with bad breath, and nodded, though only in response to the second part. He had no desire to fight the Ylissean princeling and his lackeys, no matter what the pirate king said.

The pirates had just mobilized to attack when the first volley of magic spells struck them from the pegasus knights flying over, and he thought he recognized the black one leading the charge. So Aversa had thrown in her lot with Ylisse instead of the Grimleal, had she? He hoped that if he could bring anyone down, it would be her.

Screams echoed around as the smell of burning flesh started rising into the air. Across the bay, he could see someone with blue hair jump down into the surf, running towards battle as people on the ship dropped a rope to drop down without the risk of breaking legs or other important body parts. The pegasus knights swooped over again as two wyvern knights took off from the ship as well, flying practically in sync towards the army.

"Fight, ye blind maggots, fight!" Zanth yelled as his farce of an army tried to run for cover or their lives, only two of them nocking arrows to fire back at the winged assault. Gangrel gritted his teeth as the pirates grouped into a mess somewhat closer to an organized formation. He had no expectation of making out of this battle alive, but better to die at someone's hands than a coward, running away. If the princeling was anything like he'd been three years ago, he wouldn't hold back when he saw him.

More of the army was leaping out of the ship, or crowding up to slide down the ropes. The only ones he didn't see that he would have expected from an Ylissean army were cavalry, and he suspected that they weren't going to get them down before the battle was over.

Well, might as well make the most of his last hour, he thought bitterly as the Exalt's head on sprint with his shiny sword brought him to the first of the pirates, blocking an ax aimed at his head with one smooth motion. Behind him, a young woman with the same shade of blue hair and shiny sword charged in to defend him as the pirates did what they did best and moved as a mass of destruction towards anything in their way, with the archers bringing up the rear.

He melted into the mess, not forcing his way towards the front, but not letting himself get shoved out the back either. This did have the consequence of no longer being able to see the battle itself, but he was in it for now.

Gangrel wished he had a staff at that moment as the mess of pirates was slowly bisected by the superior force of Ylisse's army, men he knew and wished he hadn't falling in varying states of dead to the ground and staining the dirt with blood like the last time he'd been in battle against them.

The air prickled around him with the smell of lightning, and he just barely dodged the spell as it struck the ground next to him so forcefully that the dirt was left blackened from the impact. He looked out over the throng for the mage who had nearly ended him without so much as a warning, but no one obvious appeared among the mess. He did see the self proclaimed pirate king charging at Chrom with his ax raised above his head, yelling something to either encourage or berate his men. Above them, the pegasus knights seemed to be switching from magic to lances, chasing after runaways. For some reason, he was the only one who had yet to engage in true combat with any of the Ylisseans this time around.

Zanth swung his ax straight down at the princeling's head, but he ducked and caught it with his sword at the same time that the blue-haired woman prepared to catch and toss the ax as well, the result trapping the blade of the ax so securely that none of them could break through.

Then he saw the mage with the thunder magic that had almost killed him, and why he hadn't noticed her before. Not only was she wearing a cloak that hid her unusual purple hair till she'd taken the hood off, but she held the tome in her left arm, fighting right handed with a sword that sparked with lightning just like his did when he used it. The steely look in her brown eyes was the same one he'd seen three years ago when she unraveled all his plans and struck him down in the wastelands of Plegia, but left him alive whether out of pity or simply not realizing he hung on by a thread. Chrom's tactician held up her tome, lips moving rapidly to cast her magic, and the Exalt and the woman dropped their swords and dodged at the same time as she released the powerful lightning bolt that made all of the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, using Zanth's ax blade as a stepping stone to his blackened death.

As the former pirate king crumpled to the ground, the smell of charred flesh rising in the air, he became aware that he was the only one uninjured, the only one left standing in the small group. All that remained with him were a single archer and three pirates with axes, all of whom looked small and pathetic without their leader. Around them, the pegasus knights landed, and he could see Aversa off to his right, holding some tome of infernal magic and smirking dangerously, entirely unchanged from the last time he'd seen her. They were surrounded. And he hated it.

Chrom knelt and picked up his sword from the ground where he'd dropped it, dust sliding off of the gold and white blade like it was water before stepping forwards. "Your leader is dead, along with his army," he said loudly, standing there all like a noble who expected to get his way from what he said, "you have three options here, either you can join them, you can surrender and go to the mines in Regna Ferox, or you can join us in the fight against the Fell Dragon." As he spoke, the woman with blue hair and his tactician moved to flank him, along with the two leaders of Regna Ferox themselves, with spatters of blood on their armor from fighting. "If you choose the latter, I swear I will keep you alive until either we reach Regna Ferox next, or the Fell Dragon is slain. If you choose the former, your death will be quick."

The archer behind him, Morg, he thought his name was, growled and nocked an arrow to his bow, swinging it up to shoot at the Exalt. His arrow never left the string as the tactician cast her lightning magic so quickly that the air snapped and left his ears ringing as the archer dropped to the ground stone dead. "If you try to attack us, you will not succeed," she said calmly to them, the tome floating above her hand slightly with the aura that was surrounding her. "Death by lightning is not the most pleasant way to go."

Gangrel didn't know whether they had recognized him and not said anything, or if he had simply fallen so far that even his almost killer and the man who hated him most didn't believe he was who he was. He didn't want to ask.

Slowly, two of the ax-men in front of him set their weapons on the ground. The third hesitated a few moments longer before doing the same. Only he still stood there, his sword drawn, but not presented as a threat or to cast the magic on it. He watched apathetically as the three ax-men were tied up, choosing the mines over either death or almost certain death fighting the Fell Dragon, and marched back towards the ships where now they were preparing to unload the horses from the deck, he could see several people on the ships struggling with panicking war horses.

Chrom looked at him with patience, which made him want to laugh himself sick with the idea that he could behave anything like his older sister once he knew who he was. "What's your choice?" he asked, and Gangrel grinned at him mirthlessly.

And told him who he was.

* * *

><p>She had a headache that refused to go away. Headaches themselves weren't that uncommon for her, what with staying up past the haunting hour most nights with a single candle and her books or maps before rising at dawn for another long day slogging through Risen to try and get that much closer to her foe. The part where Libra's tinctures, that tasted and smelled roughly like the inside of Vaike's boot, couldn't get rid of the headache was the more worrying part.<p>

Not helping matters at all was the outcome of their last battle with pirates raiding along the Plegian coastline. It seemed like the ghost of everyone's pasts were coming back to haunt them, and this particular ghost was one she could have sworn she'd laid to rest herself two years ago. The Mad King himself, fallen as far from grace as she thought anyone could, somehow alive when so many others weren't. And she could only take the fault for his existence having continued to this point, because she was the one who should have made sure he truly was dead rather than leaving him with his army to rot in the sun.

Yet here he was, alive if not for lack of trying. Chrom had refused to let her try to kill him again when he asked for it, refused to let Lucina kill him for what he did to Ylisse, and then conscripted him into their army with words and cold anger alone, till the former Mad King finally cracked under the pressure and gave in, telling him loudly enough for everyone there to hear to throw him at Grima rather than anyone else, he had no intention of surviving that fight.

Sighing, she pushed the long strands of hair back behind her ears again as she looked at the parchment containing the current arrangement of their army, blotted and scribbled over due to additions that refused to stop appearing. At least with the goal of the army having changed from defeating Walhart to only those who were determined to bring down Grima, she could fit everyone on one small sheet.

That didn't make the realization of where she had to put the former Mad King any easier. If it weren't for his hatred of Walhart, made very clear the first time he'd been brought into the camp and tried to attack him, she would have put him with the Valmese, far enough away from those who had a personal grudge against him to not have to deal with someone slaughtering him in his sleep. But his reaction to the conquered conqueror made it all too clear that wasn't an option.

Putting him with the main group wasn't an option either. Despite the fact that Chrom had forbidden anyone to touch him, she wouldn't trust him in with that encampment anymore than she would put a rat in a den of cats. Which only left her with the option she was trying to avoid.

She groaned and put her head in her heads, prompting the woman lounging at the back of her tent, trimming her long nails while waiting for her to be done with this thorny problem, to quip "he always was impossible, even before he lost his mind."

Rhiannon bit back sharper words that were mostly brought on by her headache, reconsidering how she wanted them to come out before opening her mouth. "I know exactly where to put him so that no one will kill him and he won't kill anyone. I just don't like it."

Aversa smirked at her and returned to filing at her nails to get them battle ready again, though from the way that she grinned, her attention was still on her. "So we're putting him with us outcasts? That should be interesting. I wonder how he'll react when our dear fallen princess comes to visit."

She didn't even want to think of how that would go. Probably bloodily and possibly with her having to intervene so that Chrom didn't break his word no matter how much he wanted to. "Why are you even in here?" she asked the other woman rhetorically, not expecting a serious answer.

Aversa didn't even look up from her nails. "I'm waiting for you to be done so that I can make sure you fly today." she answered, her voice bored. "You'll never get brave enough to take risks if you don't learn how to fly properly."

Rhiannon sighed and flexed her arms, wincing when the healing cuts hidden under her coat twinged and pulled. "I flew in battle today. Wasn't that enough?"

"Hardly," the older woman smirked. "But if you're this determined to shirk your flight today, I'll work you twice as hard tomorrow, little sister."

Her arms hurt, her head hurt. "Please leave," she said, resisting the temptation to moan with pain. She couldn't allow herself any weakness. "I need to focus and you're not helping."

The older woman gave her a sharp look, but stood up. Despite her flirtatious air, the woman who called her little sister and she hadn't decided if she liked the idea or not, was far too sharp for her comfort. "We'll fly tonight, after dinner," she said without any room for argument in her words, and Rhiannon wasn't in the mood to argue with her anyway.

It really wasn't any better in her tent after Aversa left, though she tried to pretend it was. Sighing, she looked over the parchment with the tent arrangements again and uncapped her ink bottle. With some difficulty, she dipped her quill and drew a fresh triangle in the much smaller circle that Aversa had dubbed the outcast's camp. With him added, they would be six. She recapped the ink.

The cuts on her arms still hurt. Maybe after the next battle, she would get a healer to help them along since it was hard enough to hold a sword already. At least she hadn't managed to permanently ruin her ability to hold and use a sword with that particular flight of fancy. It was still too soon to go that route, though the night before had been a bad night. If it hadn't been for her plans, she might have not caught herself till it was too late.

It was after the ink had dried and she had gotten up to go get the newest member of the camp a bedroll and tent so that he wouldn't be sleeping out in the chill that Chrom had come in to speak to her, his blue hair disheveled and pushed out of place from him running his hands through it in thought. She wasn't surprised that he came, and only surreptitiously pulled on her sleeves a little more to hide the bandages around her wrists as she looked up to see what he needed.

"Rhiannon," he said after a moment, "am I bothering you?" Technically, he was, but she had a feeling that she knew exactly what the conversation was about to be about, and shook her head in response, the strands of hair behind her ears slipping free again with the motion.

Chrom sighed again and pushed his fingers through his hair in that way that was said to be endearing by a few women around the camp. "Am I doing the right thing?" he asked her, sounding more tense. "I mean...we know what he's done, what kind of person he is..." he took in a breath and she saw the way that it pained him to do so. "I just...I didn't want to be the person to put a sword through him when he was begging for it."

Rhiannon bit the inside of her lip as she tried to contemplate how to respond. Aside from finding him a place to stay within the arrangement of the tents where he wasn't likely to be assassinated in his sleep the first night there, she hadn't even really considered how to respond beyond that.

She thought that perhaps she could lay some of the blame for her current problems at his feet. If he hadn't done the things he had, she wouldn't have had to live with the guilt of not being good enough to account for everything. But there was far more that couldn't, and she had been surprised to see that not only was he alive, but he seemed to resist it in every way that didn't involve falling on his own sword. That he seemed to want someone else to do to him. So in that one way, he was better than her. And it was no longer surprising to realize that aside from his actions in a short month, she really had no idea of what he was like, of why he had gone so far to no avail.

Despite the fact that she couldn't bring herself to forgive him completely for the things he did, she was just a little curious about who he was behind the masks he put up. And she could see now that both faces of him that she had seen were at least partial masks. She had plenty of experience with those.

Chrom was waiting anxiously for an answer, and she gave it to him. "Sometimes the hardest thing to do, is to grant mercy even to those who you feel don't deserve it," she said carefully. "Maybe he will have a part to play we don't know. And if he hasn't changed at all, if this is a ploy...then it's better that he's here where no one will let him go free if he tries to kill any of us." The scabs on her wrists itched dully to go with the throbbing in her head. "Regardless, he hasn't done anything yet, and he may not do anything at all. It may be that he has changed in these three years, at least enough that we can trust him in battle."

Chrom nodded slowly, some of the worry on his face fading away. "Thank you," he said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "I needed to hear that."

Rhiannon nodded and stood up, wincing as her whole body protested the motion to varying degrees, and put a smile on her face for him. "I'll see you later," she said, deciding to escape from people and thinking while she could, "I have to make sure he's equipped and then I have flying lessons."

Chrom let out a soft laugh as he opened the tent flap for her before following her out. "Then I'll see you later as well."

* * *

><p>Ah, Rhiannon, my first proper tactician on my own game, and the one with the most expanded character behind her.<p>

Rhiannon is build three, face two, hair three, hair color eight, voice three, birthday is January 1st, known as the second day of the turning of the year, and the first day of Isthoro, in the Ylissean calendar. Her asset is magic and her flaw is luck. If she was built with more specifications, her strength and defence would be poor, and her luck as well, but her magic, resistance and speed are all as high a bonus as you can give. She was once the very kind gentle Robin character we see in the game, but events that will come to light along with the effects of her lack of past before she was found in game and what she's been through in the time between when she was found and where the story begins has made her darker and less willing to let people in, though she'd die before she'd let them see that. She is twenty two, though she has no concept of how old she actually is and merely has made logical guesses based on her physical state. I picked the name Rhiannon because it has an R in it just like every other playable Plegian barring if Henry married a character who doesn't have a child with an R in their name, and because it's fun to say, and because the three meanings I've found behind it are sea witch, goddess, and more specifically, a Welsh goddess of horses who chose her lover despite all protests to the contrary and then suffered everything to stay with him because he was the one she chose and she would not give him up.

The fact that it's also my favorite Fleetwood Mac song is merely a coincidence, though a happy coincidence. Some other aspects of the song may show up later if I can fit them in.

Until next time.


	2. At Sea

Not as long as the first one, but they didn't really want to interact in this chapter and there's only so much I can make my muses do. The next chapter will have more in it, never fear. Also I know that the Avatar never displays any traits of seasickness in game, but it came to my head as a little detail for Rhiannon that just made her a little more three dimensional.

* * *

><p>They set out just after dawn to loop around the island on the trade winds. Chrom had heard of a mercenary outpost abusing their power on the northern edge of the island, and had demanded instead of going straight to Plegia from the south, that they go up north instead to take care of this problem. The great mountain in the center of the island dissuaded those who said they should go on foot and have a small crew bring the ships around instead of a great horde of people having to get onto the ships again only to land hours later.<p>

At this time, she thought she would have taken flying over any other option, but there was no point in going by herself when she would need an army no matter how proficient she was with weapons. Logic dictated that it was better to let Ishtar rest below decks and suffer a few hours on the ship.

That didn't stop her from cursing out Chrom in her mind as she clung to the ship rail and tried to not lose what little remained of her breakfast over the side. Gods, she _hated_ sea travel. Where the entire rest of the group wandered about with only mild difficulty keeping their balance, she had never had a trip where she wasn't ill the whole way. And they were still out from the mainland, she reminded herself miserably as her stomach heaved again. Even if they slept on dry land tonight, there was at least another two day's travel before she could give up ship faring till they went to face Grima. And maybe Grima would come inland to meet her.

Rhiannon clutched at the rough wooden railing as her stomach rebelled again and what little remained of her breakfast came up. Splinters dug into her palms as she coughed and blinked away the tears of nausea that came up with it. Underneath, seagulls flew placidly, screeching at each other and kicking up the smell of fish and salt into her face, which did nothing to quell the agony.

Collapsing to the deck, she wiped her face and coughed again, noticing that Sumia and Cynthia had matching looks of sympathy on their faces. If only it wasn't so _sensible _to stay with them, she could be flying towards whatever battle awaited them and avoiding this great torture of death by ocean.

At least the seasickness had faded enough that she wasn't about to vomit, she thought, though it wasn't really any better so much as just biding its time before it struck. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and looked around at those on the ship with her.

Emmeryn stood at the bow like a figurehead, from this angle, the scars running down the left side of her body were invisible, the breeze tugged lightly at her white dress and sent her curls flying back. Lissa stood nearby, talking to her son while cautiously watching Emmeryn out of the corner of her eye. Though she still would not fight, the former Exalt had not seemed to grasp how much everyone was afraid of her suddenly vanishing. Frederick watched her from a little further away with the same caution on his face.

Sumia and Cynthia were talking animatedly, Sumia leaning against the railing while Cynthia paced with far too much ease for being on a cursed boat. From the way Sumia looked slightly baffled, she could guess that it was something about Cynthia's great heroics or some of the very odd tales that they'd all heard announced about "The great and terrifying Sumia, who soared without fear into any battle, slaying friend and foe alike!" Even she had to repress a smile at the thought of how some of those stories had gone. Chrom was nowhere to be seen, but she thought he might be in his cabin, taking advantage of the temporary solitude he could get.

Elsewhere, Henry was petting a seagull that had come to investigate him, his white hair shining painfully in the bright sunlight. While she wasn't in her sight range, she thought Cordelia couldn't be far away, she never missed a chance to interact with the animals her husband could strangely charm. Rhiannon stopped looking around as bile rose in her throat again, and prepared to launch herself to her feet for when she couldn't hold back the need to vomit any more. There were two more people on the ship, one who had expressed a desire to not be on the same ship as his sister, and one who she was beginning to think enjoyed being darkly punished by everyone around him for the things that he had done, as he had absolutely refused to board the ship she'd assigned him to. Or maybe it was just because he didn't want to be around Aversa. She thought she could understand that. Though she hadn't actually seen him since they boarded. And in her current state, she couldn't go and see if he'd thrown himself overboard when none of them were looking. Unlikely considering what she knew of him at the moment, but she could easily attest to how well people could not see things.

Her inner monologue was interrupted by more nausea, and she retched miserably over the railing again. Thinking every foul word that she wouldn't let herself say out loud, she sank back to the floor when it faded. At this point, she was hoping that they wouldn't need her to think up anything more complicated than dodge attacks, heal wounds, protect innocents. Because she wasn't going to be any better than that.

Some tactician she was, not being able to handle the ocean. She would be useless in any sea battle where the battle hinged on her being useful in ways other than pointing at various parts of the ship and croaking _Attack that_ at whomever was close enough to hear. At the very least, they had nearly finished their many journeys across the ocean, after they landed in Plegia, this particular weakness could be laid to rest for a long time.

Rhiannon breathed out unsteadily, not daring to look over the railing to see how close they were to land. Maybe it would be better if she went down below, just until they arrived. It wouldn't do them any good if she was still too sick to fight even once they got off the ship.

Besides, the mark on the back of her hand was starting to burn and she wanted to be far away from anyone else who would notice before she dealt with that.

He thought he could see the coast of Plegia just on the edge of the horizon, glimmering in the moonlight, but the ships were going so slowly that they certainly wouldn't reach it before next afternoon unless a stronger wind came up. As it was, it gave him the time to try and decide how he was going to face his country.

The insomnia was acting up again, which was why he was awake at some point in the middle of the night, not trying to go back to sleep. That and the fact that every time he closed his eyes, he saw _her_ face, with the scars running down the whole left side and what remained of her eye. Just another reminder of all he'd done wrong. And how much he deserved the guilt for what happened to her.

The soft breeze pulled at his hair, barely strong enough to move it into his eyes, but he welcomed the slight distraction from his thoughts. With no one who he wanted to talk to, he spent all of his time dwelling on what he should have done as opposed to what he did.

He thought that the red-headed pegasus knight might have been on watch in the crow's nest, but he wasn't willing to look up there. For some reason, Chrom's tactician hadn't ordered him up there yet. He hoped it wasn't because she knew about his weakness to heights, but there was a part of him that said that she and her powerful brain did. Aside from Aversa's ability to call Risen, there had never been a single thing he did back in his time as the Mad King that she couldn't counter with ease and a few words to whomever she needed for her plan.

If it weren't for the fact that she hated him, he might have talked to her. Just to understand how she thought, because she was on a different level entirely from everyone he'd ever known. Sure, his upbringing had taught him cunning and his brief stint as king had taught him many of the delicate terrible games that those with power played, but he had never met anyone who looked at a battlefield and just destroyed it without any causalities on her side. And the stories that he'd heard around the camp said that she'd done roughly the same thing to Walhart's army, though most of her plans had worked on a combination of exploiting the weak points in an army banded together by force and fear, and sheer ballsy guts to do what everyone thought was crazy and taking advantage of the fact that her enemies hadn't been able to counter it.

The sound of the hatch opening startled him, and he turned away from the railing in time to see the aforethought tactician throwing herself at the opposite side to vomit. So she was seasick? He'd spent enough time avoiding everyone else that it was entirely possible he hadn't noticed before. He watched as she spasmed several times before finally sinking to the floor, wiping her mouth. In the moonlight, her eyes seemed as dark as empty wells.

She smiled wryly at him after a second and said in a hoarse croak, "can't sleep either?" she asked, pulling her robes tighter against her.

He shook his head, then looked away again. "Does it matter?" he retorted, not willing to meet her eyes and see just what lurked in them.

He could hear the frown in her voice though. "It is my job to make sure that everyone is in the best shape to be expected." she said, her voice as harsh as a crow before she cleared it and continued, "an army that is ill-fed, not sleeping, hiding injuries, or even feuding is an army easily beat."

He had to concede her point there, though he wasn't about to admit his insomnia to her. The tactician cleared her throat again and said in a softer voice, "are you afraid of what will happen when we land?"

Gangrel looked at her in surprise at her gentler tone, was she trying to be empathetic? He had to be imagining it, why would she have a reason to be empathetic to him? "A little," he admitted, though he regretted the admission a moment later. "Why wouldn't I?"

She smiled and rubbed a thumb along her wrist like it pained her. "Good point," she said, the moonlight turning her purple hair to silver as she leaned her head back against the railings and breathed in and out for a moment. "I wish this didn't happen to me," she muttered in a lower voice he probably wasn't supposed to hear.

So of course, he had to ask. Curiosity was a trait that had gotten him in trouble far too many times, and yet he still hadn't shaken it. "You get seasick?"

She nodded, then held her stomach like she regretted the motion. "Horribly so. I very much dislike traveling by sea," she said, _very much dislike_ obviously translating to a politer form of hate. "I'll be glad when we set foot on land again." she moaned as she stood up to retch over the railing again. At least the breeze carried away the scent before it could float across the deck to bother him.

The silence hovered between them for a few moments after she sat back down, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that she was evaluating him and considering what use he would be in her army. And she seemed in no hurry to break the silence that was growing more and more uncomfortable every moment. Not that he was going back under deck if he could avoid it. It was funny that he would rather talk to the tactician than just sit there under her steely gaze. "Tactician..." he began, before having to look away from her, "why are you talking to me?"

She ignored the question. "I do have a name," she retorted instead, "you could call me by that."

"I don't know it."

The woman sighed and wiped at her mouth with distaste. "Rhiannon," she said after a moment, clearly fighting back the urge to vomit again. "I'll answer to either pronunciation, but I prefer the older." she added emphatically.

Rhiannon, he fixed the way she'd said it in his head so that he wouldn't forget. It might take him some practice to get his tongue around the starting sound, but he thought he could do it. "Why are you talking to me?" he repeated after a moment, leaving her name out so that he didn't fuck it up where she could hear him.

She considered the question. "Because I know almost nothing about you, and I'm curious." she said, looking a little less sick to her stomach. "We're allies now, and I always make it a point to get to know my allies."

He supposed it made sense, considering her role in the army and the little he knew about her. Not that he was going to let her in behind the walls he'd so carefully constructed to keep out people like her. "You know everything that matters already," he said, holding back the _tactician_ that wanted to float out at the end, "so why bother?"

The woman shrugged carelessly, then looked like she regretted it. "I don't know," she answered, her nails scraping against the wood, and he guessed she was trying to not be sick again. "Aversa turned out to be more than what I saw in battle, as did Walhart. Why shouldn't you be more as well?"

And somehow he didn't have any way to retort to that. Across from him, Rhiannon threw up over the railing again before sighing and sagging against it. "What I wouldn't give to be off of this ship," she moaned, and made another miserable noise. "I could fly to land now if I could stop-" she was interrupted by the very action she was protesting.

There was something darkly humorous about her seasickness and the way it crippled her. He'd never have expected the cool-headed tactician to have such a weakness. Standing up off the deck, he walked over to her side, easily compensating for the gentle sway of the boat. Aside from the ever present threat of having to go up in the crow's nest, he didn't mind sailing that much. Next to him, the tactician lifted herself from the railing, wiping her mouth again. "You know sailing," she said more hoarsely, "how long before we reach land?"

"At this wind?" he said, looking at the very faint darker hump of darkness on the horizon, "it could be afternoon before we're close enough to land. Though it could be sooner if the breeze picks up." Which he hoped it did as well, if only to make his torture come sooner rather than waiting forever to start.

She nodded and put her head in her hands, breathing hard enough that he could hear how unsteady it was. "I'm going back under," she said definitely, pushing away from the railing. "Try and sleep before we land," she admonished him with more ferver than he thought she could muster in her current state of seasick. "You're not allowed to pass out in battle."

Gangrel found himself glad that she had gone back under, because he thought he might have smirked at the way that she ordered him about like he was anyone else.

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><p>Next chapter will be up at some point before the New Year, though it may be a bit more delayed due to real life.<p> 


	3. Early Autumn

And at roughly double the words of the last chapter before adding authors notes, the third chapter has come out. I blame Gangrel for how long it took to write it, he's an ass when it comes to his parts of the story. I understand you're unhappy dear, but could you at least be writably unhappy? Oh well, hopefully the next chapter won't take as long to finish as this one did.

* * *

><p>It was very much autumn in the lower parts of Plegia. All the grass was gold and the air smelled like the constant work his people went through of smoking meat, drying fruits, all the work it took to survive the winter. He'd stayed with the army as much as he could, not wanting to face them after all he'd done to almost destroy that through a war that never had a reason to happen.<p>

Chrom had ordered that they deal with Risen outbreaks and assist with the harvest if requested, but otherwise to pass through the country as quickly as possible, something that Rhiannon had agreed with.

They hadn't talked since that night on the ship almost a week ago, but he wasn't surprised. They'd been in constant action since they'd made port to the point where he was actually sleeping a few hours every night simply due to exhaustion. And today was no different. It had begun at dawn and packing up camp to move out. At first he hadn't understood why they'd had three ships for an army that was barely thirty strong till he saw the amount of equipment that had to go along in wagons and backup horses and such that it took to fund an army constantly on the move. Now he was confused as to how they'd managed to pack it in only three ships and not have it be incredibly cramped.

Right now, they were walking along the main road that traders used when traveling on land to Ylisse, but due to the lateness of the year, most were trying to get in the last shipments before the winter storms began, he remembered from before his time as a king.

Sometimes it seemed like a whole other life, which he supposed it really was. He hadn't had anywhere near as much guilt over the things he'd done at that point, and a lot more anger aimed at those who didn't deserve it alongside those who did. And look at where it had gotten him.

The sun burned down on his face, not anywhere near as hot as it could get at the high of summer, but still unseasonably warm for the time of year. Not that he suspected any Plegian would complain, since it meant a little longer before the winter rains swept in.

No one besides those in the Outcast Camp, a rather apt name for almost everyone in it, talked to him yet, but it didn't really bother him. The fact that he was still alive to be ignored by those who had every right to was something that he still hadn't decided if he was all right with or not. At least no one else had recognized him outside of the group. He really wouldn't know what to do.

It was easy to get lost in thought in long marches unless someone came up to talk to him, and only Aversa did that on a regular basis, mostly to torment him and call him names. He gave as good as he got, of course, but he didn't want to engage in that all the time. She hadn't lost her preference for rubbing salt into old wounds till they opened back up despite having made other...adjustments in her behavior. Regardless, no one else bothered him, and he liked it that way. He didn't have to pretend to be either completely remorseful or completely without.

Right now, the people marching near him were the princess from Chon'sin and her pet dragon, engaged in some sort of quiet argument that had the dragon smirking and the princess looking flustered. If it weren't for the fact that it was in Valmese, he would have eavesdropped, but when every word seemed to have three extra vowels and came out the nose, he couldn't begin to guess at what they were saying. Though he bet it would have been amusing to those who did know.

Ah, he was bored. Though it was a sign that the darkness in his head was passing at last, he didn't like being bored at all. It had led to spectacularly bad decisions in the past and he didn't expect it to be any different. Marching was the dullest thing and without being in a state to wallow, it only got duller.

He had counted seven different types of trees along the road and considered kicking any number of small pebbles into just the right spot to get into someone's shoe when he heard the flapping of wings, too swift to be a wyvern's. He didn't even have to look twice to see who's it was, there was only one woman in this army who rode on a black pegasus.

Bringing the winged horse down to land and walk on the ground, Aversa smirked down at him, continuing to ride despite the fact that it would have been better on her horse for her to just _walk_. Also he could have pushed her down if she'd started pushing his buttons. "Bored, are we today?" she cooed, her grey eyes full of nastiness. He had no idea why Chrom's army seemed to think that she'd actually reformed when she treated him worse than ever. "I'm surprised, you never seemed to lack bad ideas of what to do next."

Gangrel bit the inside of his lip to try and stay civil, knowing that she was doing it on purpose to rile him up. Unfortunately, it was working. "A great many of them were only fueled by a certain witch enjoying helping me wreck everything I worked for," he hissed back under his breath, glaring at her. "As well as a few that you came up with on your own."

Her horse tossed its head, nickering as Aversa snickered. "Well I see _someone_ still doesn't believe in forgive and forget. Won't you give me a chance to make up for all the bad I did?" she practically cooed, sounding far too pleased with herself for it to even begin to appear genuine. "Everyone else is."

"Everyone else is wrapped around your ass." he retorted, noticing that the dragon and princess edged away a little. Probably the wiser for it, since who knew what Aversa might do if he managed to get under her skin. "And that's how you like it."

"Well of course," Aversa said without a trace of shame. "Then they're not thinking with their heads. Though of course, you remember exactly what that was like."

"You were _awful_," he said more out of spite rather than truth. "I should have kicked you out sooner."

Somehow Aversa managed to pout at him like a child that had just been told she couldn't have more sweets. "You don't mean that," she said in that awful sickening voice that she used because it annoyed the fuck out of him, "I think I still have the dirt from your boot on my flight uniform."

"And good riddance," he said bitterly, looking away. Now he just wanted her to go away again. What little good mood he'd had was completely gone, to be replaced with roughly three years worth of memories he didn't want to think about. And Aversa just wasn't getting the hint. "Why not you go fly off before I do it again?

She only sneered at him, leaning forwards so that her assets were more visible. It didn't work. "Because I'm bored of flying around and you looked so cheerful that I decided to do something about it."

He growled under his breath, glaring at the ground. "Well you did, so fuck off." he snapped at her, kicking one of the pebbles in the dirt towards the cart in front of him. "Go bother Chrom or something.

The damned witch let out a giggle as she made her pegasus start prancing like a show pony. Sometimes he wondered how that thing had the dignity to face any other horses. "But you're more fun, you look like you're about to kill me. That would work out so well for your facade of having changed."

It was only because he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of being right that he didn't do something even worse than think of all the ways he would like to kill her. "If I had my way, you'd take a dive right out of the sky and stop ruining what's left of my life. I can do that fine on my own, _thank you very much_," he finished with gritted teeth.

Aversa let out that playful little giggle she always did when intending to flirt or play with someone's head. Given the history, it was undoubtedly the latter. "Oh, like you what did to Emmeryn?" she said coyly, looking as smug as she had at her height. "She certainly doesn't seem miserable now, what with the lack of memories and all those scars."

"Shut up," he snapped, almost stopping before remembering that she was currently on a flying horse and easily able to escape anything he might try to do, "just because Chrom's forgotten what you've done, doesn't mean that I have." he added for lack of being able to kick her.

Aversa's giggle became a cackle. "Oh he hasn't forgotten, but my little sister wouldn't let him kill me after she found out. After all, everything else is rather blank for her." she said cryptically. "You'd like her, she's as headstrong as you are."

That made the next string of insults he was preparing to hurl at her rush away, though only momentarily. Sadly for him, Aversa seemed to decide that it was the end of the conversation, clucking her tongue at her horse and taking back off to join the other fliers in the sky, soaring over to go and bother one of the pegasus knights leading the way.

Wonderful. Just when he thought that maybe things were a little all right, and now he was right back where he started, in that black pit where nothing got better and all he could think of was what he did wrong.

At least no one else would dare talk to him after that little display. Not even the witty tactician would dare bother with the Mad King, though the thought made the black pit even larger.

Even if she hadn't provoked him, what were the chances of ever changing if they always thought he would be the same?

She had finished staking up her tent and was soaking in the last of the sunlight to try and burn away the stress of a long march when Chrom came over to talk to her. Rhiannon opened her eyes to see him standing awkwardly in the half circle that made up those who didn't want to join the other group. She sighed and stood up, brushing off dirt from her coat. "Yes?"

Chrom shifted his weight from side to side, looking very awkward indeed. "You're still not coming back to the rest of the group?" he asked after a moment, meeting her eyes a heartbeat after he said it. "No one would turn you away."

She sighed and looked away, automatically rubbing her wrists to take the stiffness out of them. The scars had nearly healed over, but her left hand barely responded to anything more complex than a lance or ax heft now. "I like it here," she said evasively. "No one stares at me."

She heard Chrom sigh, but he didn't argue with her. "He's...you don't feel uncomfortable?" he asked instead, the 'he' in question clear to both of them. "I know that you hate him as much as I do."

"I don't hate him," she said firmly, flexing her hands and working out the stiffness. "Right now I'm letting him decide how far he wants to push people away."

Chrom nodded slowly, and the air fell dead between them. She regretted pushing him away like she was, but it was for the best if they weren't close enough for him to stop her plans anymore. And she certainly couldn't tell him that without revealing just why she was doing it. It was better just to let things fade between them.

He looked like he was about to say something else when Cynthia called him from over where she was failing miserably at setting up her own tent, the heavy canvas lying askew on the ground and one of the ropes twisted around her legs. "Sorry," he said instead, already walking away. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Just on cue, Cynthia fell down trying to free herself from the rope and his walk turned to a run.

Rhiannon took advantage of the moment to grab her sword and head off to walk around before anyone else came by. She knew that he meant well, but she didn't want to have the conversation he kept trying to start.

The sun hung very low on the horizon, turning the falling leaves on the trees a brighter gold and the trees themselves orangey-red. It smelled like fall, and as the camp lines vanished behind the trees, she breathed in the smell. She'd never seen Plegia in the fall before, and it was very different from a Feroxi autumn or a Ylissean autumn even. Much warmer by comparison, and the colors didn't seem so bright, but she liked it, she thought. There was something about it that felt much warmer than Ylisse's reds and browns, or Regna Ferox's evergreens that barely changed with the seasons, something that felt more right.

She supposed that had to be the part of her that might have grown up in Plegia, recognizing a sign of home that she wouldn't remember. More than almost anything, she wanted to know who she was, who she'd been before waking up in the field that day. It was a desire so strong she could taste it, but there'd never been time to find all the answers. And now there wouldn't be.

Fallen leaves crackled under her feet as she walked on them, her boots leaving prints in the dirt that anyone could follow if they'd a mind to, but she didn't expect it. Everyone else had been busy with finishing setting up camp, talking and laughing with each other. She didn't have right to be a part of that anymore, no matter what Chrom said.

It took another set of footprints before she realized that she was on a trail, and that there was no returning set. While it was possible that someone else not in the army had passed by this way, it seemed unlikely considering how fresh the prints were. It occurred to her who it might be, he had left quickly after setting up his tent, his back stiff and his stride too purposeful for her to call out to him then. Rhiannon stopped for a second as she wondered whether or not to continue on this little trail if it meant the probability of running into him before deciding that out of all the people who she could end up talking to, he was surprisingly low on the list of those who would make her feel uncomfortable. At the very least, he knew so little about her that he wouldn't know to ask the questions she didn't want to answer.

She continued along the trail, noticing the way that the shadows were slowly growing even longer to her west, the clearest proof of sunset. Above her, the cerulean sky practically glowed through the leaves, the two colors contrasting perfectly. She was no artist, but even she knew something beautiful when she saw it. Perhaps this was why Gangrel had left the camp? Even Tharja spoke fondly of Plegia's southern sunsets once, when complaining about Ylisse's by comparison, and the dark mage's only loyalty was to her husband and her, however creepy it was. She never forgot a conversation that interested her and this one seemed to be about to answer her curiosity even more. Now she thought that she should have gone back onto the main road to see better rather than through the woods. Yet the footprints continued and she couldn't decide whether to keep following or turn back to hopefully not miss it.

She was just about to turn back and maybe catch a glimpse of it on the road when abruptly the thick line of trees ended on her west, suddenly blinding her with the radiance of the sunset. Golden and radiant, it illuminated everything in its path, dancing off the thin clouds hovering above the horizon till they too were set ablaze.

As sunsets in general went, it wasn't the most spectacular she'd heard of, nor was it as vibrant as the ones at sea, but it felt fuller to her, it felt like _more_. And she couldn't say why, only that something in her blood and body called to it like it was right.

Like it was coming home.

"Nice, isn't it?"

Rhiannon jumped as the quiet was completely shattered by the very person she had been thinking of before she saw the sunset, whirling around with her hand on her sword before she remembered that he wasn't a threat right now. Gangrel stood on the other side of the breech of trees, hands in the pockets of the pants that weren't quite long enough for his legs, looking for all intents and purposes like she hadn't just almost threatened him for scaring her. She took her hand off the hilt and forced calm into her voice. "Yes, it is," she said, answering his question after thinking about it for a second. "I've never seen a sunset in this part of Plegia before."

Gangrel nodded, strands of red hair slipping out of the tie he'd put his hair in. Without being pulled back, it curled back up on itself, something that obviously annoyed him by the way he immediately went to fix it. "Not surprising for a Ylissean," he griped as he pulled his hair back into the tie again, almost pulling the twists straight. "At least you aren't completely blind."

There were many ways she could have responded to it, at least a few offended at his insinuation that his assumption of her heritage meant that she couldn't appreciate something she saw, but what came out was "was this why you left the camp, because you didn't want to stay?"

He gave her a look as he finished with his hair, one that said that he still wasn't quite sure what to make of her. She could forgive that easily, they hadn't really talked yet despite her curiosity. "No," he answered, turning back to the sinking sun. "Not that."

It sounded like one of her evasive answers, and she let it go. Not because she didn't want to know what he wasn't saying, but because she didn't know him well enough to know how to push to get the answers she wanted. She let the silence sit between them instead, watching the sun disappear. After a while, Gangrel spoke again, probably to break the silence rather than waiting for her to. "Why is it called the Outcast camp?"

Rhiannon started a bit when he spoke, but then smiled slowly, careful to keep it from being too open. "It was Aversa's idea after she joined up, that it was for those of us who didn't want to stay with the main group." She pushed away from her tree, flexing her wrists. "Outcasts isn't really the right word, none of us want to be there. Except perhaps Priam, but I think he thought we were lonely."

Gangrel nodded, eyebrows pulled together in a frown. Despite her first impressions, he really wasn't stupid, just not on her level. "It would be a good idea if it wasn't _hers_." he said, a darker sound in his voice. "So it's not good." He crossed his arms defensively and gave her a look like he was daring her to defend her awful sister.

She sighed and looked back at the sunset, not wanting to let him draw her into the petulant war between him and Aversa. Obviously there was a history between them that had ended about as badly as possible, but she had enough to deal with without being caught up in petty feuds. The part of her that was Grima sniggered in the back of her head as she saw Gangrel uncross his arms slowly when he realized she wasn't paying attention. She told it to shut up and just focused on the sunset, something pleasant that she could have before the end.

The sun sank under the tree line, then the horizon entirely. The first stars started to speck the sky overhead and her stomach growled and it occurred to her that she hadn't actually eaten since that morning. Her old self might have blushed when Gangrel glanced over at her, looking quizzical, but she just smiled at him disarmingly. "We should return before they decide that we've been attacked by Risen," she said, trying to say it casually enough that he might not notice her roping him into doing what she said. "We wouldn't want to get into trouble now."

He rolled his eyes at her, but stood up properly, shrugging. "I suppose," he said, stretching like he didn't care what they thought. She was starting to suspect it was just the opposite, a suspicion that grew when he fell into step next to her, their footsteps the only thing breaking the silence.

They were halfway along the track before the back of her neck prickled and Grima chuckled darkly before vanishing entirely. Her stomach twisted as she tried to listen for whatever was causing it, but there was only silence around her, complete and total silence. She wanted to believe that it was just paranoia or Grima toying with her head, but there was something that was off that she knew she'd missed. The fact that the only thing breaking the silence was their footsteps didn't make her feel any easier.

The silence...it was just after sunset, it shouldn't have been _silent _by any stretch of the meaning. She stopped in her tracks and glanced around. Gangrel made it three whole steps before realizing she'd stopped, looking back at her. Whatever he saw on her face, he obviously understood it wasn't good because he put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Rhiannon wished she had thought to bring a tome with her, fighting with a sword against whatever ambush awaited them wasn't going to be fun whatsoever. She slowly rotated her wrists, flexing her fingers to loosen up the stiffness as she sensed for just where the tingles of wrongness were starting from.

The first clear feeling she got was heralded with the stench of rotting flesh, putrid and making her recoil as she drew her sword in one smooth motion, the silvery blade glimmering in the twilight. In the absence of a properly formulated strategy, she let her mind free, releasing all thoughts of how to combat this threat until the only thing that she could think of was the next move, like she and her enemies were pieces on a game board.

Behind her, she heard Gangrel take a step closer, the scuffing sound of his sword coming free of the leather. "Risen?" he whispered, turning so they were back to back, an ideal position for an ambush. "It smells like it."

"Yes," she whispered back, bending her knees and pointing her sword out in front, curling her wrist so that less of her arm was visible from the front as a target. Her other arm, the weaker one, went in front of her chest, hand ready to deflect any weapon that might come at her. At least she'd been sensible enough to continue wearing her grieves and the leather gloves that went over her fingerless ones. "At least ten of them, probably more."

She could almost hear the dark grin in his voice. "Oh, fun." he said almost lightly, and she saw the first signs of an ax cutting aside the plants in its way, "After you, tactician."

She gritted her teeth as the first Risen burst out of the trees at them, ax held high and yellowed teeth bared wide in a silent battle cry, skin the color of overripe plums ready to burst. She didn't even have to think to respond, she simply moved, lunging forwards with her sword to cut straight through the scraps of fabric hanging off of its chest, the sword splitting old bone till the creature fell back to the ground in a putrid mess. Behind her, Gangrel cursed and she heard the sound of metal striking metal before a disgusting gurgling sound that Risen made when disemboweled. Then she had no more time to focus on him as two more broke free of their cover, swords pointed at her.

She whirled into motion, using the rebound from blocking one strike to put more force behind her blow on the other, forgetting proper sword techniques in favor of both hands on the hilt and reacting rather than thinking. The only thing she could see was the flaws in their attacks, the movements she would need to make and the counters she would need to take to bring them down. _Step forwards, thrust. Slice, step back, turn. Block, block, deflect, strike. Lance user, cast thunder on them, not too much, but enough to stop it. Turn, step, lunge, strike. Block, deflect._

Another Risen fell to pieces on her sword as she followed through the motions, already preparing to cast another spell to bring down another before it reached her. As the electricity gathered in her fingers, she saw out of the corner of her eyes, Gangrel backing up with a grin as a Risen with an ax and a staff advanced on him. She couldn't begin to guess what he was doing, but he seemed to have it under control, so she left him to it to throw her spell at a different Risen aiming a throwing ax at her, using the ax as a lightning rod to stop him from throwing it. The smell of rotten meat turned to burned rotten meat, almost awful enough to make her vomit, but she forced herself to ignore it as she returned to the battle.

There were only three Risen besides Gangrel's opponent left, now neutralized by the fact that the taller man had grabbed the healing staff and they were engaged in a war to try and make the other let go, but they all advanced on her at once, shoulder to shoulder like they'd been trained in battle formations in life. There were many ways to get past a wall like that, especially one without shields, but none especially easy for sword wielders. Nevertheless, she could do it.

She looked at each of the Risen as they advanced, lifting her sword to deflect the middle lance and break the wall that way. While they advanced with some thought behind it, there didn't seem to be much more than rote memorization though, tactics learned for a much larger battle with many more men. She doubted they knew how to react to what she was planning to do.

She stepped to the left, used her hand to push away the first lance, and let the second one slice along her shoulder as she aimed at the heart of the formation, the weakest point. Fire shot across her shoulders and back as the lance cut through her cloak and shirt with minimal effort, but her sacrifice was paid for by the center Risen collapsing into a pile of bones. As the other two stopped, no way to counter such an attack, she grabbed one by the throat while muttering under her breath, grimacing at the feeling of dead flesh giving way under her skin and lunged at the other one, catching it under the ribs and tearing open its side till it gurgled and collapsed. The third let go of its lance to try and grab her back, but she finished the fire spell that boiled under her skin before it could, roasting the flesh under her hand before it dissolved and fell to the ground, the magic leaving it a pile of charred bones.

Rhiannon immediately turned around, looking for any other signs that another Risen would be coming, but there was nothing. Just to prove it, a few seconds later, a carrion bird called out from a few dozen trees away, its harsh voice breaking the silence. Only then did she sigh and sheath her sword again, wincing as the action pulled on the cut on her arm. She would have to get Lissa to see to-

She was stopped midthought as the wound abruptly started to tingle before closing up with the familiar sensation of healing magic, cast by someone who knew exactly what they were doing when it came to putting an injury back together, starting at the muscle and only worrying about the skin after everything else was fixed. After a second, the sensation faded and she looked across the clearing to the only other one there, frowning darkly as he lowered the healing staff to the ground, his trophy of war from the last Risen. They stared at each other for a moment before she asked the question burning on her mind. "Why didn't you tell me you could heal?"

Gangrel's frown did not lighten in the slightest. "You can cast tomeless magic," he responded, his voice almost flat. "We all have our hidden talents." He sheathed his sword without looking, still holding the staff like it was comfortable to have at his side. "It wasn't necessary."

"Yes it was," she said, walking over to him so she could stare him down if necessary. "You know full well that we need every healer we have." And you're good enough to use a Mend staff from twenty feet away, she thought, but didn't say. "If you'd said something, I would have given you a staff."

He sneered vaguely in her direction as he nudged at one of the piles of dust on the ground, already being blown apart by the light evening wind. "Why should I help you? None of you Ylisseans trust me. And you shouldn't. But that doesn't mean that I'll help more than I have to."

She crossed her arms, glaring at him till he looked away. "I don't believe you," she stated, keeping her voice even through much practice. "I think that you don't want us to see that you have more depths than the Mad King of Plegia." The way he winced almost imperceptibly told her she'd gotten it right. "I think you want us to hate you."

"Tch," he said, kicking at another pile of dust and avoiding her gaze, "think what you want to think. It doesn't make a difference to me." As if to prove it, he tossed the staff to the ground, hard enough that it clattered and stirred up dirt in a small puff. "I'm just a mongrel, nothing else."

Something in her chest softened at the way he said it, bitter and defeated, almost devoid of emotion. Instead of arguing with him or prying, she just walked over to pick up the staff. Even if he refused to use it, there wasn't a reason to just leave it lying there. "And I'm a mistake," she said softly, already turning to return to the camp. "We all have our flaws."

The little voice that so often told her it would be wrong to let anyone know what she thought inside was strangely silent when she started walking again, and stayed quiet when Gangrel began to follow again, the sounds of his footsteps almost as quiet as the voice in her head.


End file.
